It's great to be able to also codify the history of the Colorado music scene in the '70's and early '80's (well, that's the first part of this journey, and the start of my time frame, from my point of view, of course). And much has been written already. But it was one of those spaces in time that erupts for a little while, then burns out, like a spent volcano.
A lot has been said about the enormous concentration of talent in Colorado during that time and the artists that should have 'made it', who didn't. In between keeping the studio doors open and food in my mouth, in between doing the boring, endless, or ridiculous sessions, there was always a point of light that reminded me why I put myself through what I did. Some sessions were pure magic and I knew it and I will never forget the times I realized I witnessed something wonderful, whether it was the early Catseye struggling to find itself, or Woody and the Too High band filling a club on the strength of their original songs, as could Bullett, and many others. You could hear incredible live, original music at many Boulder venues any night of the week.
Of course every session was a chance to enhance the artist's work, to capture it as it was meant to be, or to add some color and creativity. Even the use of obscure technical equipment is art, depending upon the way it is used, calibrated, or manufactured.
If you don't know me or can't tell, I was a female recording engineer in the Denver/Boulder/Nederland area from 1976 to around 1982 and in Houston studios between 1980 and 1982, then at home from the mid-'90s onward). I worked at Applewood, Mtn. Ears, Northstar, Caribou Ranch, Todd Wheeler's Remote Truck, the Helix/Boulder garage studio, and two studios in Houston, but not the one that was a combination recording studio and a bordello for passing truckers. True story. And it wasn't a bad studio, either. A little Texas color for you. Most people knew me either as Sarah Dudzik, early on, at Applewood, then Sarah Bullington in Boulder. Now Berner again.
When I began to do research for this column, I was consumed with time frames and correctness. But I lost half of my mementos and all of my journals in a move, years ago. So after driving myself crazy, tearing up my apartment, writing countless emails to friends who were there, too, and re-connecting with old friends, I decided that it was the music, and the story, that counted more than a perfectly contiguous story. So if the dates are bad, I forget or misspell some names, I don't remember recording sessions or stories as others do, please forgive me, and either blow it off or let me know. I would like to know and as a hobbyist historian, I think this project should be as correct as possible. Instead of my journals, which I wrote almost every day back then, I will rely on studios, tape labels, friends' memories, and letters to and from my family during that time.
Over the next several installments, I plan to write about Colorado as I knew it. The studios, the artists, the bands, the technical people (besides me) without whom any of this would have been possible, the ambiance, the funny and not-so-funny stories, what it was like to be a female engineer in the '70s, and how I achieved my dream of being an engineer. I have stories about the famous, the infamous, and the believers in their own press.
Working in many studios allowed me (and other engineers) to become involved with those that came to Colorado, from another part of Colorado, or the U.S., to work for a short time there. They might not have been a part of the community, per se, but definitely put their mark on it, and me. There are certainly people who know more than I, and saw more than I, and stayed longer than I. But I have the time and am willing to write it all down, from my point of view. I hope the people that I forget to mention will come forward and fill in the blanks. I had to leave my career (temporarily), and Boulder, too early, as did many, thanks to the revival of disco and the arrival of punk, and hey, I liked punk, so let's just say that another wave came by to ride and many of us had to change our carefully laid plans and comfortable, beautiful surroundings. So I have no doubt that I missed a lot, but I think I was there for the bulk of it, not the first, not the last, just the middle and some beginnings and endings.
So before I wrap this intro, I'd like to leave you with some thoughts I had when I first starting writing this:
Universality - there is a documentary, "Tom Dowd and the Language of Music", which I highly recommend. Google or Allmusic the late, great engineer/producer. Does the name Clapton, or stereo records, or faders ring a bell? Thank Tom. I noticed that our early backgrounds were very much the same – musical parents involved with performing, and constant exposure to music at an early age. Music lessons, a desire to add creativity to recorded music, to lift it above simply capturing it onto a medium, and an openness to learn from the artists. The push/pull between both sides of the brain, the ability to be theoretical and artistic at the same time. I would never, ever compare myself to Tom Dowd, and am certainly not the musician, physicist, engineer, or producer that he was (he worked on the early Manhattan Project-amazing). But, I think it shows that even someone like Tom and someone like me and many others, came from the same nest.
Sure, some fell into the business by other means or necessity, but not me. I had a major plan. And I followed it until I achieved the first few parts, anyway. Maybe that's the difference between being male and female in this business. My male peers seemed to fall into it with the ease of a diver and I had to build the pool first. I'll write more about that later, but all in all, I was treated pretty well by the guys, even better than today, in many cases.
Anyway, Ray Charles said, in this Tom Dowd documentary, that the first thing you have to have, to engineer, is to be able to hear, to really hear. Of course that is horribly obvious, but he meant hearing like a blind person, like he was. I've always been able to hear to about 23kHz (23,000Hz), which is pretty high for human hearing – most decent equipment specifications go from 20Hz (subwoofer-like bass) to 20kHz (20,000Hz). Dogs hear a lot higher than we do, although there is no data on what sort of engineers they would make, if they had the capability. But ears aren't enough on their own and my personal frequency range has nothing to do with really hearing or blind people, but bear with me...
When I was a young kid, we had a blind neighbor, and one of our relatives was blind, too. I loved hanging out with them, and I learned what it was like to miss part of the world most of us have access to and how they compensated; how their hands gave them so much information, and how their sense of hearing became more acute. I used to put a blindfold on and pretend that I was blind. The first thing I noticed was fear, and the fear led me to strain my ears; they were all I had on which to rely, besides flailing about with my hands. So even though I didn't hang out with the musicians like Tom Dowd did, and learn how to listen from them, I had the physical ability and the curiosity to be able to learn to listen, as a starting point, and my attention was drawn to sounds naturally, from an early age. I didn't get my parent's vocal or musicianship genes, but I had the ears and the exposure. Some people are born to be great musicians or great tennis players or Renaissance men and women who do it all, but I really think I was born to just engineer (and a few other unrelated things).
And so it begins...read on.
© Copyright Sarah Bullington Berner 2007
A lot has been said about the enormous concentration of talent in Colorado during that time and the artists that should have 'made it', who didn't. In between keeping the studio doors open and food in my mouth, in between doing the boring, endless, or ridiculous sessions, there was always a point of light that reminded me why I put myself through what I did. Some sessions were pure magic and I knew it and I will never forget the times I realized I witnessed something wonderful, whether it was the early Catseye struggling to find itself, or Woody and the Too High band filling a club on the strength of their original songs, as could Bullett, and many others. You could hear incredible live, original music at many Boulder venues any night of the week.
Of course every session was a chance to enhance the artist's work, to capture it as it was meant to be, or to add some color and creativity. Even the use of obscure technical equipment is art, depending upon the way it is used, calibrated, or manufactured.
If you don't know me or can't tell, I was a female recording engineer in the Denver/Boulder/Nederland area from 1976 to around 1982 and in Houston studios between 1980 and 1982, then at home from the mid-'90s onward). I worked at Applewood, Mtn. Ears, Northstar, Caribou Ranch, Todd Wheeler's Remote Truck, the Helix/Boulder garage studio, and two studios in Houston, but not the one that was a combination recording studio and a bordello for passing truckers. True story. And it wasn't a bad studio, either. A little Texas color for you. Most people knew me either as Sarah Dudzik, early on, at Applewood, then Sarah Bullington in Boulder. Now Berner again.
When I began to do research for this column, I was consumed with time frames and correctness. But I lost half of my mementos and all of my journals in a move, years ago. So after driving myself crazy, tearing up my apartment, writing countless emails to friends who were there, too, and re-connecting with old friends, I decided that it was the music, and the story, that counted more than a perfectly contiguous story. So if the dates are bad, I forget or misspell some names, I don't remember recording sessions or stories as others do, please forgive me, and either blow it off or let me know. I would like to know and as a hobbyist historian, I think this project should be as correct as possible. Instead of my journals, which I wrote almost every day back then, I will rely on studios, tape labels, friends' memories, and letters to and from my family during that time.
Over the next several installments, I plan to write about Colorado as I knew it. The studios, the artists, the bands, the technical people (besides me) without whom any of this would have been possible, the ambiance, the funny and not-so-funny stories, what it was like to be a female engineer in the '70s, and how I achieved my dream of being an engineer. I have stories about the famous, the infamous, and the believers in their own press.
Working in many studios allowed me (and other engineers) to become involved with those that came to Colorado, from another part of Colorado, or the U.S., to work for a short time there. They might not have been a part of the community, per se, but definitely put their mark on it, and me. There are certainly people who know more than I, and saw more than I, and stayed longer than I. But I have the time and am willing to write it all down, from my point of view. I hope the people that I forget to mention will come forward and fill in the blanks. I had to leave my career (temporarily), and Boulder, too early, as did many, thanks to the revival of disco and the arrival of punk, and hey, I liked punk, so let's just say that another wave came by to ride and many of us had to change our carefully laid plans and comfortable, beautiful surroundings. So I have no doubt that I missed a lot, but I think I was there for the bulk of it, not the first, not the last, just the middle and some beginnings and endings.
So before I wrap this intro, I'd like to leave you with some thoughts I had when I first starting writing this:
Universality - there is a documentary, "Tom Dowd and the Language of Music", which I highly recommend. Google or Allmusic the late, great engineer/producer. Does the name Clapton, or stereo records, or faders ring a bell? Thank Tom. I noticed that our early backgrounds were very much the same – musical parents involved with performing, and constant exposure to music at an early age. Music lessons, a desire to add creativity to recorded music, to lift it above simply capturing it onto a medium, and an openness to learn from the artists. The push/pull between both sides of the brain, the ability to be theoretical and artistic at the same time. I would never, ever compare myself to Tom Dowd, and am certainly not the musician, physicist, engineer, or producer that he was (he worked on the early Manhattan Project-amazing). But, I think it shows that even someone like Tom and someone like me and many others, came from the same nest.
Sure, some fell into the business by other means or necessity, but not me. I had a major plan. And I followed it until I achieved the first few parts, anyway. Maybe that's the difference between being male and female in this business. My male peers seemed to fall into it with the ease of a diver and I had to build the pool first. I'll write more about that later, but all in all, I was treated pretty well by the guys, even better than today, in many cases.
Anyway, Ray Charles said, in this Tom Dowd documentary, that the first thing you have to have, to engineer, is to be able to hear, to really hear. Of course that is horribly obvious, but he meant hearing like a blind person, like he was. I've always been able to hear to about 23kHz (23,000Hz), which is pretty high for human hearing – most decent equipment specifications go from 20Hz (subwoofer-like bass) to 20kHz (20,000Hz). Dogs hear a lot higher than we do, although there is no data on what sort of engineers they would make, if they had the capability. But ears aren't enough on their own and my personal frequency range has nothing to do with really hearing or blind people, but bear with me...
When I was a young kid, we had a blind neighbor, and one of our relatives was blind, too. I loved hanging out with them, and I learned what it was like to miss part of the world most of us have access to and how they compensated; how their hands gave them so much information, and how their sense of hearing became more acute. I used to put a blindfold on and pretend that I was blind. The first thing I noticed was fear, and the fear led me to strain my ears; they were all I had on which to rely, besides flailing about with my hands. So even though I didn't hang out with the musicians like Tom Dowd did, and learn how to listen from them, I had the physical ability and the curiosity to be able to learn to listen, as a starting point, and my attention was drawn to sounds naturally, from an early age. I didn't get my parent's vocal or musicianship genes, but I had the ears and the exposure. Some people are born to be great musicians or great tennis players or Renaissance men and women who do it all, but I really think I was born to just engineer (and a few other unrelated things).
And so it begins...read on.
© Copyright Sarah Bullington Berner 2007
This post was transferred from MySpace, it came with this comment:
ReplyDeleteMarc JX8P
Wow, what a story! 23 kHz is amazing - I recently found out that I only have as much as 14 kHz... And this without having damaged it by repeated exposure to loud sound sources. Anyway, it's cool to read that you still enjoy recording and working with musicians.
Marc
2 years ago